


till the morning breaks

by wearealltalesintheend



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Bolin/Opal, Minor Korra/Asami Sato, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Unreliable Narrator, and realizing they're way past that, mako is angsting, thats why its unreliable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/pseuds/wearealltalesintheend
Summary: “Some of the cafes in Little Ba Sing Se are reopening,” Bolin tells Wu because unlike him, Bolin has been an active participant in this conversation, laughing and adding his own anecdotes, “you should go with Mako while you’re here.”There’s something off about Bolin’s tone, but Mako doesn’t have the time or presence to analyze it yet, too busy looking away before Wu looks at him again, his gaze a heavy, solid weight. “That’d be nice,” Wu agrees, and he’s looking at him, Mako can feel it even as he stares fixedly on his plate, pushes the carrots around, sloshing sadly in the sauce from the dumplings. “Just like old times, eh, Mako?”A small smile slips past his lips, “I doubt they’ll have smoothies already, though.”“Some sacrifices must be made, I suppose,” he sighs, dramatic and playful, and it hooks a chuckle out of Mako, quiet and sincere.“You’ll live,” Mako says dryly, ducking down to hide his persistent smile.“Is that a yes, then?”*or, Wu comes to visit Republic City, Bolin and Korra are very invested in their lives, and Mako learns how to take a break every once in a while.
Relationships: Bolin & Korra & Mako & Asami Sato, Bolin & Mako (Avatar), Mako/Prince Wu (Avatar)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 297
Collections: Wuko Rights!





	till the morning breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, hi! So, I do have a confession to make: I have not finished all of Legend of Korra yet, nor read the comics. BUT this pairing just spoke to me! Yes, I believe in the inherent romanticism of buddy comedies! 
> 
> I guess, what I'm saying is I'm sorry if it's the characterization is a little off or there are too many plot holes!

It starts at the wedding.

Mako is sure of it. There’s a moment of clarity where he’s leaning against a wall, glass in hand and the loud music cheerfully washing over him, and he catches sight of Wu– nothing that should have stood out, nothing out of the ordinary, just Wu, laughing at something Korra said, eyes closed, head thrown back, colorful lights casting an ethereal glow to his silhouette. 

It just clicks, then. Mako feels oddly hot, chest going tight, a fluttering to his heart, like he’s been feeling for weeks now, and it’s as if the world rearranges itself.  _ Oh,  _ he thinks.  _ That’s how it is.  _

Maybe it’s watching Wu grow into this world leader who loves his people enough to let centuries of monarchy go. Maybe, it’s Mako doing the growing up. Maybe it’s none of those things and it’s just that in the past years, Wu has been the one constant in his life. It feels like a lifetime ago they met, like the past is a distant country, too far to be anything but a fogged memory. Like it happened to two different people.

So Mako ignores his healer’s halfhearted warnings and throws back his drink. It burns down his throat, all the way until it settles warm into his stomach. Wu is still smiling, wide and earnest, bright in a way Mako can’t fathom being after everything. Korra snorts into her own drink, reaching for Asami, and is met halfway. Again, something aches fiercely in his own chest, sharp just beneath his sternum, and it’s not that Mako is in love with any of them, it’s astoundingly clear now that he’s not, it’s just that– it must be nice, that. Reach for someone and be met halfway.

The party is still in full swing, a celebration of much more than the wedding, and Mako allows himself to watch the world unfold around him for a little longer. Just a few days ago, it had felt like the end of the world, but that, too, came and went, and here they are now. Still here, still alive. Just for a little longer, he won’t worry about this new development.

For now, Wu waves at him, beckoning closer, and Mako pushes off the wall, lets the tide of affection rise steadily as if in a full moon.

*

For better or for worse, after the wedding, things more or less settled.

Republic City is a wreck and his apartment sometimes seems to be holding up through nothing more than sheer willpower and maybe Bolin’s bending. Heat is still out on his block and it’s a miracle plumbing is still working, but Mako can’t help feeling selfishly relieved to be back. This rundown two-bedroom is not exactly what he would call  _ home,  _ and sure, he’s more than grateful for his stay in the makeshift hospital hastily set up around the city and how they healed his arm, but still. It’s been too long. Through the wreckage and the difficulties, it’s still good to be back.

If anything, Mako feels less of a burden here.

His arm is still in a sling, scarred and useless underneath the bandages, and while he can firebend with his other hand, it’s hard not to wonder. It’s hard not to panic. What will he do if he can’t use his arm? Would Beifong even let him keep his job? She’s already forcing him to take a sick leave– how long until she gets fed up with him? Until she sees he’s no longer worth keeping around? What, then? 

It’s good to be back here, in Republic City, in his shithole apartment, with no imminent threat lurking just around the bend, yes, but Mako is still left unmoored. Adrift. Everyone he knows is out there, somewhere, helping with the rebuilding efforts, working to pick up the pieces, to move the world forward, and Mako. Well. He’s here, barefoot in his kitchen struggling to open a jar. 

Bolin is with Opal, their whole lives unfurling in front of them, taking over rebuilding the city. Korra and Asami are still in the Spirit World, but Asami left clear instructions on how her industries are to help and Korra has already done so much for the world, she’s owed this reprieve, really. Wu is working on a goddamn constitution so he can step down and change a whole form of government. 

Mako closes his eyes. He doesn’t really need jam for his breakfast. There’s bread, there’s butter, he can make toast.  _ One step at a time,  _ his healer had said.  _ Extensive nerve damage,  _ she had said soon after. 

“I need to buy groceries,” he tells his empty fridge for the sake of speaking and not sounding like he’s worse than he is when Bolin comes over for lunch. Lunch– Boling will probably bring food, but Mako should make sure he has something just in case he doesn’t. Chicken, maybe? Some vegetables for a stir fry if Opal comes along.  _ One step at a time.  _ He needs eggs. Orange juice. He should probably make a list.

The sky is a clear blue when he steps out of his building, the summer heat comforting on his skin even as he walks carefully down the street, alert to any suspicious activity. It’s late enough that most people are already awake, but the state of the city isn’t exactly inviting to going out. Debris has been cleared out from the pavement, more or less allowing traffic to resume, but Satomobiles are few and far between and Mako can count on his one good hand the number of people he crosses path with on the several blocks it takes him to find an open store.

It’s fairly empty like everything is these days, and the man behind the counter watches him with deep-seated wariness. See, this is why Mako should be back at work. The Triads must be having a field day with how things are. Tomato soup can goes into his basket, along with ramen packets and the lone carton of eggs on the shelf. The milk is about to expire and Mako spends a whole minute debating with himself if he should just buy it anyway. If he were at work, it would probably be a waste, but he’s not, he’s spending all his days at home now, so there. Maybe he can finish it off before it goes bad. He could even bake a goddamn cake tonight, it’s not like he doesn’t have the time. 

The man clears his throat. The milk clatters against the tomato soup. Some sad-looking carrots make the cut into his basket and Mako is ready to call it quits when something unusually colorful catches his eye. A packet of candies sits in one of the shelves, bright lychees stamped in the package, and something goes loose on his chest. Mako picks it up, feels his own lips curling up in the closest thing to a smile he’s managed in days, and thinks back on the number of times he’s found those wrappers around their suite, littering the most improbable places. 

It’s Wu’s favorite candy.

Mako never liked it much on the rare occasions Wu convinced him to try one, too sour for him, but Wu loves them wholeheartedly, always has some in his pockets, and Mako wonders if he tastes like that. 

The thought makes his face burn, flaring hot while he stands there, alone in the middle of the aisle with the candy in his hand, and while it’s not as surprising as it would have been before, it still catches him off guard, it still makes the ground rumble beneath his feet. He might not be sure how new these feelings are, but his awareness of them is still very much a novelty.

_ Agni,  _ and isn’t that new, too? Look at him, self-aware of his own emotions. 

“Are you buying or not, kid?”

The man’s voice startles him badly– see, he’s going soft, he’s losing his skills. What good will he be as a detective if he’s spooked like a newborn lamb? “Sorry,” he shakes himself as if dispelling a fog, and places the candy on his basket even though he knows he won’t eat it, even though Wu is halfway across the world, really, walled up in Ba Sing Se doing many important,  _ meaningful,  _ things.

His groceries are bagged and the old man eyes Mako’s bandaged arm with a sort of vaguely pitiful look that irks him profoundly. It annoys him deeply, an anger that burns so hot it hurts, and Mako slams the money down with more force than necessary, making a point of grabbing the paper bags in one swift movement even though it jostles his injured arm painfully.

All in all, this little trip outside lasts maybe an hour, considering his slower pace with the groceries, but he manages to get back to his apartment before noon. It wasn’t anything extraneous, really, but it still leaves him feeling oddly tired, a wariness that wasn’t there before, even to his standards, and his good hand is shaking a little as he puts everything away, phantom needles thinly prickling between his shoulder blades. 

At his kitchen table, the jar from this morning is still there. Mako scowls at it as he passes towards his couch, absently picking at a loose end on his bandages.

Sunlight streams through his ratty curtains, a warm patch of the cushions too tempting for him to ignore, and Mako sinks there, elbow resting on the armrest and head resting on his elbow. The distant sounds of the city wash over him and maybe it’ll be alright if he just closes his eyes for a minute. Bolin will take a while to get here anyway. 

With the clock ticking away with tar-like sluggishness, Mako dozes off in the sun in the middle of a weekday for the first time in a very long while.

*

Bolin arrives a little past one in the afternoon, arms full of food but no Opal, his arms scratched to hell and back from working in the demolition sites but smiling around his cheerful retelling of the morning. It’s comfortingly familiar, and Mako feels his previous frustration melting off, replaced by a lingering relief–  _ they made it,  _ against all odds, they made it, they survived this war, all of them.

Anyway. The noodles Bolin brings are great, way better than Mako expected considering the current state of the city, and while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s hungry, Mako eats his bowl  _ almost  _ on his own. 

“You know,” Bolin says, picking up both their plates despite Mako’s pointed scowl, “I was talking with Beifong this morning.”

A sense of foreboding creeps up his spine. Mako makes a point of scowling deeper, taking the glasses to the sink to follow into the kitchen. “About?”

“This and that,” Bolin isn’t looking at him. His eyes are trained determinedly into the water as he washes the dishes, even as his tone is forcefully light. Mako trust none of this. “Mostly about you. The city. The next steps.”

“The next steps,” he echoes, resigning himself to drying duty in his own damn house. It reminds him a little of the time spent in the Four Seasons, the vague restlessness of finding himself with nothing to do after room service had taken away their plates.

“I mean,” his brother adds quickly, “she’s going to need all the help she can get.”

Mako doesn’t like where this is going. He has an inkling of what Bolin wants to talk about but he refuses to acknowledge it; if Bolin wants, he can bring it up himself. “How  _ are  _ things out there? Any news on the election?”

Bolin shrugs. “About as you’d expect it,” a plate gets caught in the water spray and soapy water splashes all over his shirt, “oh man, this is just  _ gross.” _

Privately, Mako thinks it serves him well for all this coddling. “And the election?”

_ Shit.  _ Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up, now Bolin is giving him a weird look– was it something in his voice? His face? Is it so obvious? Can  _ anyone  _ tell? 

“Well. I haven’t heard much,” Bolin tells him, shrugging again, and takes the cloth from him to dry his hands, “but I think Prince Wu is actually doing well? Apparently, he’s convinced most of the Kingdom to support his reform?”

Pride swells in him and the most surprising thing about this is how unsurprised he is. Of course Wu is doing well. Mako was there to see how he stepped up during the evacuation, heard all about what he’s missed after. There was no doubt about that, not anymore. 

Which raises the question- what did Mako really mean?  _ Did you hear if he’s being careful? Was he hurt at all in the battle? Is he lonely? Does he mis–  _

“That’s great,” Mako settles on saying, turning away to hide whatever expression his face is doing. 

“Yeah,” Bolin says, but the weirdness is still there, still in the way he stretches the vowels, “but anyway. Republic City might be worse off. There’s a  _ lot  _ to tear down before we can start rebuilding.”

That and Mako can’t imagine the gangs will be laying low for long. It’s only a matter of time, really, and  _ really,  _ that’s another reason why he should be back to work by now. Or literally doing anything other than holing up uselessly inside all day. Still, he feels the need to say, “you should be careful. Don’t go too far. And listen to Beifong.”

Bolin snorts, shaking his head as he finishes tidying up. “Bro,” he grins amusedly, “you don’t have to take care of me anymore. I’ve got this.”

_ Do you?  _ Mako looks away. There’s a burnt taste on his tongue and something unpleasant rattling around his ribcage, icy cold. It’s not fair to Bolin and it’s not fair to him either, but perhaps a fairer answer would be  _ I don’t know how.  _ So far, life has always been one thing after the other, no time to breathe, always another fire to put out, and now– all these empty hours, what’s he supposed to do with that? Suddenly, everyone is fine, moving on,  _ forward,  _ but it seems insurmountable to Mako. How do you leave your past behind like that? They act like the past is a coat you can just shed and stuff in the back of your closet, but what if it’s not? What if it’s skin-deep, rooted around bones like nerve endings?

“Just be careful,” he ends up saying with a sigh, and Bolin snorts, clapping his shoulder as he yawns around his goodbyes. Life goes on outside his shitty apartment, and in any case, he’s got to change his bandages soon, it’s best no one’s around to witness that. While it’s not as bad as it looks, it certainly looks a lot worse than it should.

*

Days bleed into each other in unremarkable molasses, slow and syrupy; Sunday afternoons stretched into weeks. Mako keeps changing his bandages and cleaning around the burns, and he supposes he should be grateful for the dull ache on his fingers sneaking vines all the way up to his shoulder. It means it’s healing. The nerve damage wasn’t irreversible. 

It’s always like that, with sickness: numbness is the worst-case scenario. 

But life goes on, whether you want it to or not, whether you’re ready for it or not. Life goes on, and Mako stays just outside of it, unable to help with anything other than the occasional advice. Korra and Asami come back from their honeymoon in the Spiritual World, and the real world seems to kickstart with them. Rebuilding progresses quicker than anyone thought, news from Ba Sing Se comes in quicker with the reopening of most road accesses to the city and the train once again marches on across the hills. 

In his little kitchen, Mako throws away the milk gone bad, cuts the carrots in uneven cubes too large to his liking– they won’t cook right, not like this, even if he starts with them, but it’s too much bother to start over now–, nearly hacks off his hand while peeling the potatoes. Still, there’s something to cooking that inevitably sets him at ease. Maybe it’s the steady ritual of it, the mundane tasks, how easy it is to lose himself to it, trust muscle memory to guide him through. 

If his arm hadn’t been aching so terribly all day today, maybe he would’ve tried for something better than a halfway decent stir fry, but Bolin will probably bring the same noodles from last time, so it’s not like they’ll need much more than that anyway. 

He’s just setting the table, half-wondering if any store nearby has fireflakes, when a commotion stirs just outside, a rising murmur of voices so familiar that– 

“ – I just don’t think they need to stay outside, I mean, there’s plenty of room inside,” Bolin is still talking over his shoulder as he lets himself in and Mako is frozen in the awkward threshold between the kitchen and living room, heart climbing up to his throat, frying pan clutched tightly on his hand, and  _ no,  _ his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. A step behind Bolin, there’s Wu.

There’s Wu, shrugging off whatever concern Bolin is complaining about with the same carefree wave of his hand as always. There’s Wu, with his bright green clothes so out of place in Mako’s greyscale apartment. There’s Wu, looking at Mako for the first time in nearly a month and smiling like he’s missed him. 

And, of course, there’s Wu, barely giving Bolin time to take the stir fry before throwing his arms around Mako in a hug because he knows Mako won’t turn him away. He’s clutching at the back of Mako’s shirt, bunching up fistfuls of fabric, and this is so unbearably familiar to Mako, his chest is constricting violently, heart stuttering out of rhythm, and Wu’s hair is just a little bit longer, just enough to hint at curling at the nape of his neck, and Mako knows better than to thread his fingers there, tangle himself in their softness, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want.

_ Agni,  _ he  _ wants _ . He returns the hug briefly, indulging the beating ache behind his sternum, sinking in the warmth, Wu’s hair tickling his nose.

“Mako, it’s been too long, I’ve missed you so!” It’s Wu that pushes away, lets the world trickle back in between them, but he’s still grinning so impossibly bright, eyes searching as if he’s taking in all the differences in Mako, too. Privately, Mako hopes he isn’t. He’s not sure he’s changed for the better, not with his sling still glaringly obvious. Dropping his hands from Mako’s shoulders, Wu retreats the last point of contact, a slight frown on his brow, “oh, I hope I didn’t hurt you? Bolin said it’s getting better, but how’s your arm?”

“It’s fine,” Mako blinks, still feeling out of sorts, strangely breathless. It’s all so unexpected, he can’t quite believe he’s not daydreaming, about to wake up to a duller world. “How– what are you doing here?”

It comes out harsher than he’d intended, snappish, and he regrets immediately, but it’s too late, the words are already out in the air, flaming with his unintended tone. Grin twitching, not quite falling, but dimming, Wu finally takes a step back, “well,” he clears his throat, “Chief Beifong asked for the records of Kuvira’s damage on the Earth Kingdom, for the trial, you see.”

Mako should probably apologize, tell Wu he’s been missing him like a lost limb, phantom aches and all, but it’s like trying to speak a foreign language. He tries, but the vowels stick to his tongue, sour and terrible. “And you came to deliver in person?” is all he manages, with a frown.

“Of course!” Wu makes a sweeping gesture, “how could I miss the opportunity to visit? And I know, I know what you’re thinking,  _ but what about the elections? What about the Kingdom?  _ but really, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve left everything in good hands, they hardly need me around anymore, anyway.”

“And we appreciate the help, man,” Bolin says, nearly startling Mako. Had he truly nearly forgotten his brother was there? “Did you know Mako, Wu’s brought some supplies from Ba Sing Se? Korra’s spent the afternoon sorting everything with Asami.”

“That’s really great,” he tells Wu truthfully, watches the artificial lights reflect off his hair, how he turns almost bashful at the genuine compliment.

Wu waves them both off. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” he looks around, sees the table set, the noodles Bolin had been carrying, the poor stir fry. “Let’s eat, then. Something smells delicious!”

“That’s probably Mako’s cooking,” Bolin takes no time sitting down, fishing out the containers from the bags, and so they follow suit, Wu taking the seat right across Mako because the universe has never been anything other than spiteful. 

Nothing about tonight seems to make sense, dreams spilling into reality, and Mako decides to take it all in stride, shoves everything else in a locked chest so he doesn’t have to look at it, doesn’t have to remember or acknowledge. It’s easy enough, he’s got years of practice.

“So how are things in Ba Sing Se?” Mako asks collectedly, pleased to find none of the emotions bubbling under the surface in his voice. See, it’s working already. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Wu perks up, his grin once again blinding in its brilliance.  _ “So much  _ has happened, I don’t even know where to begin–” and dives into a long-winded explanation of the last couple weeks, a convoluted mess of navigating the Upper Ring families and arguing with his council while occasionally traveling through the country, visiting the farthest towns where news of the reform might not have reached yet, not reliably.

The funny thing is that Mako would typically find the babbling annoying, still does, but now it’s also oddly endearing, like it’s been for months. Before– before what? The wedding? The evacuation? The days they spent in Asami’s state? – he might not have noticed the hard-work buried underneath the fancy and tangents, might not have heard how much Wu cares about his people. Now, Mako watches with pride and a bottomless well of fondness, hopes it’s not overflowing everywhere in the table.

“Some of the cafes in Little Ba Sing Se are reopening,” Bolin tells Wu because unlike him, Bolin has been an active participant in this conversation, laughing and adding his own anecdotes, “you should go with Mako while you’re here.”

There’s something off about Bolin’s tone, but Mako doesn’t have the time or presence to analyze it yet, too busy looking away before Wu looks at him again, his gaze a heavy, solid weight. “That’d be nice,” Wu agrees, and he’s looking at him, Mako can feel it even as he stares fixedly on his plate, pushes the carrots around, sloshing sadly in the sauce from the dumplings. Distantly, Mako notices he’d been right before, the carrots  _ are  _ undercooked now, too hard and lumpy. “Just like old times, eh, Mako?”

A small smile slips past his lips, “I doubt they’ll have smoothies already, though.”

“Some sacrifices must be made, I suppose,” he sighs, dramatic and playful, and it hooks a chuckle out of Mako, quiet and sincere.

“You’ll live,” Mako says dryly, ducking down to hide his persistent smile.

“Is that a yes, then?” Wu asks, like Mako wouldn’t follow him to the ends of the world if he thought he’d be welcome. 

“It’s not like I have better things to do right now,” he snorts, hands feeling clammy and cold, then adds, softer, “sure. How long are you staying?”

“Until the end of the week,” Wu shrugs, dropping another dumpling on his plate and motioning with his chopsticks, “but I’m meeting the Avatar tomorrow morning, you know, in the interest of diplomacy. We’re big on that now, diplomacy.”

“I can meet you for lunch,” Mako offers, hoping not to sound as earnest, as excited as he feels, “it won’t be too far if your meeting is at the Four Seasons.”

“The roads are open around there,” Bolin says around a mouthful of noodles, “so you could probably take the Satomobile.”

Something soft passes through Wu’s eyes. “I don’t know, I like the walk.”

“It won’t be the same,” Mako warns mouth suddenly dry, “it hasn’t all been rebuilt yet.”

“Few things are,” Wu smiles, unbothered, “I don’t mind.”

_ It’s a date, then,  _ he almost says, tastes the words on his tongue, sugary sweet, but they cling to his teeth like tar, sticky molasses on his throat. It feels a little like when he first met Asami, the awkwardness and the tongue-tiedness, except he knows what he wants to say, has carried these words around for so very long now. They're heavy, it's exhausting.

But he doesn't say it, only nods, and turns to ask Bolin if he's crashing here tonight, which leads to a story about Opal and so dinner moves on, in between laughter and a hundred one questions.

Like this, it's easy to lose track of time, a stark contrast to his morose days, and Mako eats his noodles and gives up his share of the dumplings, content to let Bolin and Wu carry most of the conversation until even the coffee has run out and there are no more excuses to linger.

Bolin is somewhere in the kitchen, the sounds of running water and his quiet bustling around drifting from the room, and in this small space, Wu right there beside him, it feels possible, tangible, something less of a dream and more of a wish. Mako reaches and snags Wu’s sleeve and it doesn’t bear on his shoulder like some unforgivable sin, it’s just the silk of the fabric brushing his fingertips. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says when Wu pauses, hand on the doorknob but wide, impossibly green eyes turned on him. It reminds him of the early Spring days, lush plains and tall trees, gentle breeze whistling past newly bloomed leaves. Inside his chest, Mako aches and aches and aches, his heart, a caged bird rattling at the bars, gnawing at his ribcage, begging to split open bones and sinew and fly away, sit in Wu’s hands, bloodied and beaten.  _ Here, I’m yours, there’s no other story.  _ “I really did miss you.”

Instead of the expected teasing, Wu looks at him in brief silence, smiling a new smile, small and startling sincere. “I’m glad I’m here too,” he stays like that for another second, a whole lifetime, maybe, before tugging his arm back and opening the door, allowing the world to come rushing in again. His eyes don’t change, though, even as he steps in the hall, waves, and winks, “see you tomorrow, tough guy!”

Mako waits until Wu is out of sight, disappeared around the corner with his new, and a lot more professional, bodyguards, to close the door.

“He’s funny, you were right.”

Bolin’s voice startles him. Badly. “What?”

“Wu,” his brother repeats, seeming amused, a cloth thrown over his shoulder, but he studies Mako more seriously than he’s been in a good while. It’s unnerving. “You said he wasn’t that bad, once, and you were right.”

“Thanks?” 

“I mean, I just figured I should at least make an effort to know the guy,” Bolin continues as if Mako hadn’t spoken, grinning earnestly now, “you know, _ considering.” _

Mako frowns, feeling strangely like they’re having two different conversations. “Considering… what? The election? Because I don’t think Wu’s planning on running for anything.”

This time, it’s Bolin that seems to be the confused one, making a face at Mako. “What do you mean–  _ oh,”  _ he blinks, then softens, amusement turning into something more earnest as he steps up to Mako, drops his hands on his shoulder, “you know you can tell me anything, right, bro?”

“I don’t–” Mako struggles to find words, drowns in his uncertainty– does Bolin know? Is it all so obvious? Should he– but what if he  _ doesn’t?  _ Bolin is his little brother, if he– Mako can’t lose him. If Bolin were to hate him, he wouldn’t know how to handle it, can’t even imagine it, not truly. “Of course I know,” he snaps, looking away to glare at a spot on the floor, “but there’s nothing to tell.”

Bolin watches him for another beat before sighing, letting go and taking a step back, “okay, Mako. But just– you’re my brother and I love you, no matter what, okay? Just keep that in mind. Whenever you’re ready.”

Swallowing past the sudden lump on his throat, Mako nods silent, brushing past Bolin to lock himself in his tiny fucking bathroom and splash cold water on his face until he feels less like he might catch on fire, less like  _ his world  _ is on fire and he keeps pouring gasoline.

*

The Four Seasons Hotel has not suffered much damage in the invasion, nothing that fixed windows and replaced doors haven’t patched up. Sure, the pavement right across is cracked and the bakery at the end of the block still has a collapsed wall, but the hotel still stands tall, shinier than ever. 

Not that Mako expected otherwise; he doubts anything short than a demolition would prevent it from opening its doors. Waiting for Wu in the lobby, he sits sprawled in one of the armchairs, sharing a commiserating look with the girl at the front desk whenever the phone rings– he figures she must remember him as Wu’s bodyguard.

_ Wu probably knows her name,  _ he realizes suddenly with a new surge of affection. Wu probably knows her name and her life story, and if he knew Mako’s forgotten it, he’d probably tease him mercilessly before reminding him.

The thought brings a smile to his face that he lets play out, unbothered by any witnesses with unwanted questions, and if he closes his eyes, he can see the ghost of all the times he walked out the elevator and past this room with Wu, listening to his voice and watching his hands as he gestures while talking. 

It’s almost funny how just the thought of him helps dispel the brooding mood Mako’d been carrying around since this morning, after Bolin had found him in the kitchen, showered and dressed and bandages changed, coffee already percolating away in the old coffee machine, and sighed, looking away. He hadn’t met his eyes, only shaken his head, said,  _ “I wish you’d let people take care of you for once,”  _ and not risen to the bait when Mako had snapped back he didn’t  _ need  _ help. 

But it helps, being here. 

And it helps even more when the elevator dings and the metal doors open to reveal Wu, grinning and waving at Mako as if Mako isn’t always already looking at him, as if Mako could ever miss him in a room. As if he wouldn’t burn the world for that smile. “Mako, hey! Were you waiting long? I  _ am  _ sorry about that, but the meeting ran a little long.”

Still floored, Mako breathes in deeply, shakes his head, “no, no, I was early.”

“More like,” Korra says and Mako doesn’t startle, but it’s a near thing; he hadn’t noticed her follow Wu out of the elevator, “he took way too long messing with his hair in the mirror.”

“It takes time to moisturize,” he says automatically, hearing the echoes of the many,  _ many  _ times Wu’s said it before, and he might still be smiling, just a little, as his eyes slide back to Wu.

“Yes, hm,” Wu clears his throat, averting his gaze, fixing his cravat, “exactly. You can’t rush perfection.”

Korra, for her part, doesn’t comment on it, even if her face is doing a  _ thing  _ that never means anything good, just snickers in a way that she probably thinks is subtle. 

“What?” Mako snaps, feeling overheated and terribly cold, all at once.

“Nothing, nothing, just something Asami said yesterday,” she says placatingly– which, again,  _ weird.  _ “So, I’ll let you guys go do your thing. Sure you don’t want a ride?”

Flashbacks of Naga tearing down the streets, cutting around corners at breakneck speed, and nearly tossing him out of the saddle cross Mako’s mind in one shuddering second.

“Thanks, we’re good.”

“Maybe next time.”

She grins like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Suit yourself, fellas,” she claps them in the back, hard enough to make Wu sway forward, Mako catching him by the elbows without conscious thought, “and let’s all meet up before you leave, yeah, Wu?” Walking backward, she adds quickly, “preferably within the next two days. I mean, whenever you guys are ready! But in less than three days would be  _ great.” _

And with that, Korra leaves them in the lobby, with Mako still holding on to Wu as if to steady him, blinking after her and taking advantage of his own confusion to ignore how his palms are burning without any fire at all. 

“That was weird, right? I don’t know her very well, but that seemed weird.”

“No, yeah, that was,” Mako doesn’t even know how to begin explaining his friends are all some flavor of weird, so he finishes apologetically, “weird.”

Surprisingly, it’s Wu that steps back, straightening up with a laugh and leaving Mako bereft, almost unmoored. “Weird,” he echoes, “right. Shall we? I’m  _ starving!  _ Room service is  _ not  _ as up and running as they said. I mean, I understand why, I’m not  _ complaining,  _ but I’m still  _ starving.” _

“The cafe is not far,” Mako waves goodbye to the girl at the front desk, ducking out the doors with Wu. The streets here have more people walking around, fewer buildings still wrecked, and it’s not the same as before, but the important bits– Wu, babbling at his side, hand brushing Mako’s every once in a while, the sun warming up their skin– they’re still there, unshakable. For Mako, it’s enough. 

So he listens to Wu talk, content to watch their surroundings without contributing anything beyond agreeable humms and the correct interjections. It’s nice, this lack of expectations. It’s been three years, Wu knows not to expect more of him, is inexplicably  _ happy  _ with this. So Mako listens to what’s been going on in Ba Sing Se, heart clenching with his foolish longing, and catches himself almost smiling, vaguely pitying the old councilmembers who have to deal with Wu’s determination to bring the Earth Kingdom to rather modern standards. 

“What?” Wu stops mid-word, blinking at him but not quite making eye contact, “you’re looking at me, well,  _ weird,”  _ then, expression turning so horrified, Mako can’t stop the chuckle from leaving his lips,  _ “do I have something in my face?  _ Mako! Why didn’t you say something! This is–”

“No, no, it’s not– you’re fine,” Mako tugs lightly at his wrist for him to drop his hands from his face, “you’re face’s fine. I’m just. Impressed, I guess. It’s amazing, what you’ve been doing.”

Wu ducks his head, uncharacteristically bashful, seeming surprised. “You really mean that, huh.”

“I do,” Mako nods, thumb brushing the underside of his wrist in a self-indulgent moment before dropping it, stuffing his own hand in his pocket, “for what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you.”

The smile he receives in return is overwhelmingly bright. Mako has to look away before it blinds him, before it sets him on fire. His feelings rise in tides, overflowing from where he keeps trying to bury them, spill all over the floor, and Mako genuinely fears one look at him will give him away to anyone, any stranger on the street, on the queue to the bakery, on that hotel lobby. 

“It’s worth a lot,” Wu says, quieter, softer, and his fingers brush Mako’s again, “more than you know.” A pause, he clears his throat, “anyway. Oh, look, we’re here! Would you get us a table? I’ll order for us.”

Call it leftovers from his job, but Mako actually prefers to choose their table, something still outside since Wu likes it better, but in a strategic position, safer. This way, he can relax, or at least worry less– once again, if he had been allowed back to work, he’d know the situation, he’d know if he should be actively worrying or not.

“It seems we’re settling for a mushroom frittata today,” Wu takes the seat across from him again, today’s paper under his arm, seemingly unbothered by having to go up to the counter to order, “but don’t worry, they did have that pie you liked for dessert.”

Mako allows himself a smile. “I’m surprised you’re okay with the service here.”

“Attenuating circumstances,” Wu sniffs, chin up haughtily, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief, lips twitching as he tries to conceal his grin, and Mako– he can’t help it! His fondness bubbles and bubbles and bubbles, growing too large to contain until it spills out of him into chuckles.  _ Spirits,  _ Mako’s so in love with this man, it shines into everything he does, he’s sure. He takes the sports section Wu hands him, he accepts the frittatas, and through all this, he loves. The world spins and Mako’s in love. 

“So,” Wu starts, folding and refolding his napkin before laying it over his lap. His face is a relaxed sort of serious, “why so gloom?”

It takes him off guard and Mako chokes on his frittata. “I– what– I’m not gloom! I’m fine! I’m–”

“Putting on a brave face, yes,” he dismisses Mako’s excuses with a wave, studying him for a moment that seems to stretch and stretch into infinity. “But something is bothering you, I can tell.”

Most people wouldn’t know to expect Wu to be so perceptive, to look beyond himself, but Mako knew this. There was no reason for him to be surprised. And, to be fair, he’s mostly startled to have this attention turned on him. “It’s,” he has to look away first, “nothing important.”

“It’s bothering you,” Wu counters, steadfastly patient like few people know he can be.

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t seen him in so long, maybe it’s the blur of movement and people that’s slowly crawled back into his life, maybe it’s just the way Wu’s looking at him, with no expectations, no pressure. Just a willing offer to listen. 

Either way, he sighs, knows he’s caving under Wu’s gaze, finds himself speaking, “It’s not a big deal,” he watches people walk by for a minute, heads down but unmistakable air of relieved contentment, “it’s just that with this arm– I can’t work, I can’t help, I can’t open a  _ jar  _ sometimes! Bolin, Korra, Asami, they’re all out here rebuilding and helping, and you’re  _ dismantling the monarchy,  _ while I– I’m useless like this.”

If someone were to ask, Mako would probably be vehement about not meaning to say all that, but the truth is: he did. He did mean it. When Wu asked, Mako found he didn’t mind answering. Talking made the weight on his shoulders lighter, as if it’s not quite the whole wide world he’s carrying, or at the very least, not alone.  _ A problem shared is a problem halved,  _ Bolin used to say. Maybe he was right, maybe with the right people that can be how it works.

“Mako,” Wu has no pity for him, Mako knows it by his voice alone, how it lifts and lilts, “you’re the least useless person I know. And trust me, I know  _ a lot  _ of people. No, seriously, don’t look at me like that! I mean it! Yesterday, Bolin was just telling me how often people asked him to ask  _ you  _ about their cases!  _ And  _ he told me how you never turn him  _ or  _ any of your friends away whenever they come by. Or me. You’ve been listening to me rant about the Earth Kingdom all the way here.”

“I don’t mind listening to you,” Mako blurts out, just thankful it didn’t come out as a more truthful  _ I like listening to you. _

Wu smiles, startling genuine. “Thank you. I don’t mind either,” he clears his throat, taking a bite of his food, “but see! This is what I’m talking about! Just because you’re not literally picking up rocks, it doesn’t mean you’re not helping!  _ You are. _ You’re keeping everyone around you together. And besides, your arm– you’re only hurt now because you saved everyone during the invasion. If it weren’t for you, there would be nothing to rebuild.

“You’ve done so much already, it’s okay to take a break once in a while, you know? Kuvira is locked up, the invasion is over. You get to rest now, Mako. Aren’t you tired? After everything, don’t you want to just slow down for a while?”

Mako swallows thickly, lungs going tight, heart constricting. The truth is, sometimes, it feels like he’s been exhausted his whole life, a wariness that seems to live in his bones, it feels like he’ll never get rid of it. He looks away, down at his own half-eaten plate. “I– there’s so much to do–”

“And more than enough people to do it,” Wu tells him gently, “I’ve been to the station, they have, like, way too many volunteers at this point.”

A hand cover his, hesitant and warm, and Mako looks up, finds Wu watching him with the kindest eyes he’s ever seen, a sea of green too bright to look at it for too long, too beautiful to look away. “And, if you feel like a change of scenery,” Wu adds, oddly hesitant, “I could always use the company down in Ba Sing Se.”

“I’m no good at bending right now,” Mako points out, mouth dry, tongue tied.

Wu shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I just meant– like I said, I’ve missed you, and, well, it’d be nice. If you were there.”

Perhaps it should have been more obvious that Wu  _ wants  _ to spend time with him, and Mako  _ knows  _ they’re friends, and hanging out is something friends just  _ do,  _ but this still hits him like a sucker punch, it knocks the breath out of him. “Oh. I, uh,” he coughs awkwardly, trying not to bring attention to the fact they’re still sort of holding hands, “I wouldn’t want to bother, but,”  _ but maybe  _ it’s okay for him to have this one thing, maybe it won’t get screwed up,  _ maybe  _ “I’d like that.”

Wu _ beams.  _ It’s terribly overwhelming. “It’s settled then! You’re going on vacation!” He takes his hand back, leaving his handprint there, burned on Mako’s skin, “I’ll book us all the Spas I can find in the city!”

_ Oh, boy.  _ “No Spas! I  _ told  _ you that’s–”

“Not your thing, yes, yes,” Wu snickers, eyes sparkling, “I’m joking, I’m joking!  _ Relax,  _ Mako. We can do anything you want, we can go see the new badgermole enclosure at the zoo or the turtleduck pond.”

That  _ does  _ sound nice, they never had the time to visit the zoo before. He could get Bolin a postcard in the gift shop, even, one of those with animals drawn in the back, his brother would probably like that. Maybe they’ll have one with a fire ferret? Or at least with a flying bison for Opal. Korra would probably like one with a polar bear dog, and  _ those  _ will definitely be there for sale, and maybe for Asami, a dragon. For Wu, he’d get a badgermole one, of course. 

_ It’d be nice, _ he thinks. Vacations have never been his thing, but this one, it sounds okay. It sounds like something he could get excited about. And there would be Wu, too. After a month of radio silence, it’d be nice to get to see him every day, even if just for a little while. 

Maybe this is what he needs to get over his stupid feelings, too. Maybe going cold turkey would never have worked for him, maybe he needs to slowly taper it out.

“Yeah, I’ve never gotten the whole badgermole thing,” he says, fighting off a smile of his own, “how did that happen, again?”

There’s a smudge of pie filling at the corner of Wu’s mouth, and Mako wants to reach out and wipe it for him, wants to lean over and kiss it away, taste the sweet off his tongue. He does none of those things. 

Wu launches in an embellished retelling of the evacuation, and Mako sits there at the cafe, and listens.

*

There’s a park nearby with a lake and it’s own family of turtleducks, and somehow, Wu convinces him to take him there, producing a piece of bread from nowhere to feed them while they talk the rest of the afternoon away. It’s frighteningly easy, spending time with Wu, falling back into not so old patterns, and  _ really,  _ Mako hadn’t realized at the time how unprofessional their relationship had been. Bodyguards don’t go out for smoothies with their bosses and bodyguards don’t walk side by side, bickering about sports matches. 

How had Mako not realized how badly off track he had been going?

If he hadn’t allowed himself to befriend Wu, would they still be here today? Would he still be unlocking his door far too late at night to let them both in his shitty apartment? Personally, Mako thinks this was inevitable. It’s unimaginable, not liking Wu. Well. It is now, considering who both of them have grown into. A couple of years ago, getting along had seemed almost unfathomable.

The thought makes him snort, imagining what his old self would say if someone were to accuse him of falling in love with the then-Earth Prince. He’d probably tell them that’d be stupid. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong, although, Mako can’t say he minds.

In any case, that doesn’t change how fast time had passed, a stark difference from the past weeks, afternoon turning into sunsets turning into evening. Turning into  _ too late to go back to the hotel, my place is closest.  _

And now, here they are.

“Does it hurt?” 

Wu’s voice is quieter here, like he’s afraid it’ll break something, but it still startles him somewhat; Mako hadn’t noticed him looking while he grimaces down at his first aid kit. “It looks like it hurts,” Wu adds in half-explanation, “shouldn’t someone do that for you?”

“It’s fine,” Mako tries to brush him off and head to the bathroom, but Wu is stubborn when he wants to be, an immovable object. “Seriously, Wu. It’s fine, I can do it myself.”

“Like you do everything else?” For the second time that day, Mako scowls at his insight, and for the second time that day, Wu is unfazed by this, continuing like nothing is wrong, “won’t you let me do this one thing for you?”

_ I wish you’d let people take care of you for once. _

“I know you don’t  _ need  _ the help,” Wu says, softer, gentler, and he reaches and takes Mako’s wrist, and his touch is a simmering heat on his skin, and Mako lets himself be tugged closer, steered to his lumpy couch. “I know you can do it alone, I know you enough to know that, but just because you can, it doesn’t mean you have to. Or that you should! I  _ want  _ to help.”

_ I wish you’d let people take care of you for once. _

“Okay,” Mako nods, not meeting his eyes, afraid to come undone if he does, unraveling like an old cloth, frayed at the ends. It’s this thought, the easy certainty that Wu won’t mind the fraying, not after three years of living in each other’s pockets, not after everything that happened in those three years, that inches enough space past his walls to allow him to cave. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Wu answers immediately, zero uncertainties, taking the bandages and the antiseptic and not hesitating before unwrapping Mako’s arm, before touching the burnt skin. Then, he stops. “Erm,” Mako looks up, frowns at his sheepish expression, so incongruent with the situation, “I’ve just realized, I’m not entirely sure how to do this.”

“You don’t know how to change bandages,” Mako repeats, deadpan.

“No? It’s not like they teach this at university!” He defends himself, and this is so inherently  _ Wu _ , Mako isn’t even mad, isn’t even  _ annoyed,  _ he’s just happy he’s here. Mako just laughs– a head-thrown-back, belly-aching kind of laughter. 

Soon, Wu is joining him, and then they’re just two grown men laughing about silly things on his couch, and it’s the best Mako’s felt all week, he never wants it to stop. “Why would you offer to do it then?”

Hiccuping around his giggles, Wu makes a sweeping gesture, “because! I wanted to do this for you!”

“Okay,” Mako shakes his head, still too amused for his own good, souring mood long forgotten, “why don’t I show you how to do it and–”

_ And you can do it next time,  _ he’d been about to say, had bitten back just in time before he went and showed too much and made a fool of himself.

“Yes! Great, I’m great at learning things,” Wu hands him the bandages back, face set in determined concentration, and Mako wants to kiss him for it.

Instead, he just goes through the motions, pretends this isn’t horribly intimate for him, and lets Wu help him keep his hand steady, wrap the gauze, cut the bandages. For the first time since he’d left the makeshift infirmary, his arm doesn’t throb after he’s done with it. 

_ I wish you’d let people take care of you for once.  _ Maybe Bolin has a point, maybe Mako doesn’t know how to do that, not yet, not quite, but maybe– it’s not too late to learn, is it?

“There, all set,” Wu pats his hand lightly, but something about it makes Mako think he’s nervous. On edge. So he waits in the silence, looks back steadily until Wu caves like Mako knew he would. “What? Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Mako flushes, regretting having pushed for a reaction. He feels the heat crawling up his neck and it’s a wonder he’s not setting his apartment on fire, he can only imagine what his face must look like.  _ Yes, yes, I’d like that.  _ This is why he never wrote, never called: Wu flirts and jokes and means little by it, but Mako wishes he did. He doesn’t need Wu to return his feelings, he’s content to keep his love buried, but  _ Spirits,  _ this he can’t do. 

The flirting has to stop, yes, Mako will put his foot down, if he asks Wu, he’ll understand, he’ll stop, he– 

He is blinking owlish up at Mako, eyes wide and green and looking at Mako like he’s uncovering a secret of the universe, and  _ shit, shit, shit,  _ he’s figuring it out, it must be written all over Mako’s face, and, and–

And he won’t hate Mako for it, he knows, but he’ll turn him down in the kindest possible way, and it won’t ever be the same again, and it’ll kill Mako, and it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life, and–

“Mako,” Wu says, careful like he never is, like he’s afraid to break something and Mako will hate if he’s afraid to break  _ him.  _ “I was just joking, you don’t have to get pissy about it–”

It’s such a turn in his train of thoughts, it throws him off for a second. “What? I– you think I’m angry?”

“Why else would you get all red-faced for?”

“Because!” The words won’t come, sticking to his throat, to the roof of his mouth, and he flounders, feels like a man dropped at sea. 

Mako has never been good with words and now he’s drowning in them, flailing for the right thing to say when he’s never known how to find it. 

But Wu is still looking at him and this feels earth-shatteringly important, and if he doesn’t get this right, it’ll haunt him worse than the previous option, and it’ll be so much worse because Wu is looking pained, and Mako never wants Wu to hurt. 

His panic grows and grows and Mako has to do something soon or it’ll be too late, so he moves before he fully realizes what he’s doing. His good hand reaches for Wu, cradles his face as gently as he knows how to be, aware of every callous on his fingers, every scar on his palms, and Mako sees the moment it dawns on him, so he braces himself for the inevitable–

Except, Wu doesn’t turn away. He only closes his eyes for a second, leaning into his touch, and brings a hand to cover his, the other reaching for Mako, and this is impossible, surreal, a dream. It must be. “I,” Mako tries to speak again, finds words still elude him, but Wu is smiling, leaning up as he draws Mako closer, lips finally,  _ finally,  _ pressing on his.

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling so bright, it lights up his face, it lights up Mako, and kisses him again, and again, and again.

Mako smiles into the kiss, feels Wu grinning back, a soft laugh passing between them. This time, he doesn’t have to fight to speak, it comes easy, easy as breathing, “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m not very good at this.”

Another kiss. Wu hums contentedly. “I don’t know, I beg to differ.”

“You know what I mean,” he takes his hand, not quite believing he gets to intertwine their fingers like this.

Wu brushes his thumb across his cheek and his heart skitters in his chest, bursting with love, and Mako leans into it, marveling at every touch, every caress, every kiss. At the tenderness of it. “I do,” he kisses him again, “we’ll get better at communicating. See? Look at us, we’re already doing it!”

It brings another laugh out of him, so Mako kisses him, and kisses, and kisses. Is this real? Is it truly happening? It must be. Even in his dreams, just the possibility of this was too farfetched, unimaginable. Under his palm, Wu is warm and solid and inviting. Mako decides not to care for the rest– the questions, the doubts, the troubles. It doesn’t matter, even if just for tonight, even if it’ll hurt more to watch him leave in the morning.

The next kiss tastes as reckless as he feels, it’s terrifying, it’s  _ wonderful,  _ Mako never wants to stop.  _ It’s okay,  _ Wu says again, and he’s equally breathless, equally hungry, and thinking is becoming too difficult, so in the end, Mako chooses to stop doing it at all.

*

The next morning comes with pale sunlight streaming from his window, a kinder warmth than the usual scorching summer heat as if the world knows to be gentler with their happiness. Wu is still asleep in his arms and his hair is not as perfectly poised as he wrangles it to be every day and he snores a little, quiet little huffs that sometimes turn into incoherent mumblings, and Mako loves him all the more for it.

Still not entirely believing this is real, that it’s allowed, that it’s  _ possible  _ to be this unfathomably happy, he watches Wu for a moment, soft in his sleep, and feels fondness growing untamed in his chest. He lets it. It may show on his eyes, on his face, on his lips, he doesn’t care. 

He’s  _ content. _

“Now, this is a nice way to wake up,” Wu murmurs half-asleep, eyes blinking up sluggish at him, and he’s smiling, easy and true, “good morning.”

Mako runs his hand through his hair, basking in its softness. “Morning.”

Leaning up on his elbows, Wu presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, drops back on his chest. “This is nice.”

“It is,” he agrees, beginning to feel choked by the things he wants to ask. Maybe if he felt less, it’d be easier. As it is, Mako breathes in this peace and braces himself to confess, “about last night…”

Something shutters in Wu’s eyes as he pushes himself up, “right. If you don’t. I understand, I mean. If it was just a fluke, if you were just lonely, I get it.”

Panic seizes his chest, Mako lurches forward, ignoring the pain jolting up his arm, to catch his wrist, tug at him to turn back to him, “wait. I just meant to ask. To say, actually. I don’t want casual, I can’t do casual. It’ll hurt too much.”

“You don’t?” He’s looking at Mako openly again, relieved and cautious in near measures. Then, he must see something in his face, and his whole expression softens in a grin, mischievous and happy and genuine, “is this you asking me to be your boyfriend, Mako?”

Snorting despite himself, Mako shrugs, “might be. Would you say yes?”

Instead of answering, Wu pulls him into a kiss, wrapping himself around Mako like he never wants to let go, and  _ Agni,  _ Mako never wants him to. 

_ “I love you,”  _ Mako whispers against his lips, a secret passed just between the two, the words belonging just to them. Later, he’ll have to bring tell his friends about this and inevitably suffer through their teasing, and now that he’s no longer spending too much energy into keeping all these feelings to himself, Mako can recognize Bolin, any of the others, would never care about his bisexuality, except,  _ clearly,  _ for the bet they definitely have going on when Wu and him would get together. It hurts his pride a little that his friends had known they’d inevitably end up here, but it’s hard to care. So yes, later they’ll have to face his family, but for now, it’s nice to be just the two of them. “I love you, I love you.”

Wu kisses him again, smiles. “I thought it was obvious, but in case it wasn’t,” when Mako reaches for him, he meets him halfway, squeezes his hand, “I’m ridiculously in love with you too.”

A bright new world is blooming outside and with it, the future and all it may hold.

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! thanks for reading! if you liked this, you can always come talk to me about this show on [my tumblr](https://avtarkyoshi.tumblr.com/)! I might add later a small epilogue with them meeting the rest of Team Avatar, so maybe keep an eye out for that? We'll see.
> 
> and hey? thanks.


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